


Treasure

by Featherfloof



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 21:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17670587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Featherfloof/pseuds/Featherfloof
Summary: Jamison suffers a nightmare from his past and comes to realize that he's got all he's ever needed right here in the present.





	Treasure

**Author's Note:**

> A quick one-shot involving my two favorite fictional peoples...well three if you count Roadie! I've been entertaining a scenario similar to this for a while, had written about it before, but condensed it into this version. Short and sweet (at least I think so)!  
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~Floof

Pain.  White-hot jolts of excruciating pain washed over him, coming and going like ocean waves lapping at his body, slowly dragging him back towards the realm of consciousness.

A steady ringing filled his head, blocking out any other sound that may otherwise penetrate the silence surrounding him.

His lungs sucked in a reflexive breath, the effort rewarding him with a stabbing crack at his side, causing him to cry out in agony.  Throat burned, the acrid smell of sulfur mixing with something else that made his stomach roil.

The scent of burnt flesh.

With great effort Jamison opened his eyes, blinking through the haze of unshed tears as his bloodshot hazel hues swept the immediate area surrounding him.

Red.

All he saw was red.  The sky, the crumbling ruins of the buildings around him, and—the bodies beside him.

Confusion peeled away, leaving in its wake a startling sense of panic.

“Mum?”

His voice was hoarse, coming out as nothing more than a whispered squeak.  Rolling to his side and doing his best to tamp down the terror that was clawing at his insides—trying to be a brave little ankle biter like his Dad had always asked of him—he frantically searched for any sign of his Mum, faintly remembering that she’d been at his side before.

What had happened?

Was he dreaming?  Was this all a nightmare?  Usually by now, he would have woken himself from this hell, yet here he remained.  Trapped.  Maybe if he called his Mum she could come and wake him, pull him from this strange world he’d suddenly found himself within.  She always came to save him.

His eyes finally landed on a familiar form on the ground behind him.  She was laying still, clothing singed and stained crimson.  Her blonde hair was in tousled disarray, some areas burned, revealing charred scalp beneath.

“Mum?!”  He squeaked again, his small voice tight with fright.

He reached out to grab her, but his arm curiously didn’t fill his line of vision.  Refocusing, Jamison found himself staring at what remained of his right forearm, bones protruding, flesh rendered to shreds.  Pain stabbed through him once more, molten fire in its intensity.

He screamed.

 

 

“Jamison!”

Jamison bolted upright within his bed, chest heaving as he sucked down blessedly cool, fresh air.  His surroundings were dark, save for the soft green glow of the digital clock on his workbench across the room.

Sweat covered his body, the heat of his skin contrasting with the cold air around him, but he welcomed it.  Realizing with tangible relief that he’d been dreaming.

His heart continued to pound against his ribs as he brought a shaky hand to wipe at his face, discovering bewilderingly that tears were streaming down his cheeks.

“Are you alright?”

The voice made him flinch, startling him as he vaguely remembered someone calling out to him, waking him from the nightmare of his past.  _Her_ voice.

“Yeh,” Jamison choked out, tone low but tight.

“Athena alerted me that you had a heart rate and blood pressure spike outside of normal parameters—so I came to check on you.”

Angela’s voice was calm, soft—a balm to his soul after reliving that torment again.  Blinking through the last of the moisture that filled his eyes, Jamison focused on the numbers displayed on the clock across from his bed.

2:23am.

He sucked in a breath.

“Christ. I’m sorry Doc, didn’t mean to wake ya.”

He felt a weight push down on the mattress beside his left leg and vaguely saw the outline of Angela’s form within the black void of his room as she settled there.

“You don’t have to apologize, Jamison.”  Angela answered, a heavy pause hanging in the air between them before she finally worked up the courage to ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jamison cleared his throat.

“Yeh, nah, it’s alright Angela.  I’m alright.” He answered rather quickly, slightly embarrassed by the fact that Angela was seeing him in this state, but grateful that she’d come to rescue him when she did.

He felt the weight of her hand rest on his thigh beneath the heavy blanket he slept with, the contact offering silent comfort.

“Okay.”  She whispered softly before her touch and the weight of her body beside him lifted away.

Jamison felt a small prickle of panic and reflexively reached out within the dark, fingers raking blindly and contacting her warm, soft flesh.  His hand closed over her wrist before gently tugging her back to his side.

“Please,” Jamison pleaded softly. “Don’t leave me just yet.”

He heard her sigh softly, a sound of endearment instead of exasperation, then felt her cool touch as her hands reached out blindly, resting against his chest then drifting around to his sides as she leaned in and hugged him.

Sucking in a ragged breath as a lump of emotion lodged itself in his throat from the show of affection, Jamison closed his arms around her slender form, tugging her closer against him, pulling her into his lap as he welcomed her healing embrace, holding onto her tightly.

“You really are an angel…” He murmured as he lowered his face to press against the curve of her neck, breathing in her scent.  Vanilla.  Sweet and calming.

A pang of deja vu exploded within his chest, causing his arms to squeeze her a little more as a vision of his Mum bending down to hug him flashed within his mind, the scent of vanilla enveloped him.

She’d carried that smell too.

 

Angela felt Jamison’s body shudder against her own, the tight choke of a suppressed sob escaping between his lips and she pulled him closer against her body as a weight of helplessness dropped within her gut.

She could repair physical wounds.  Knew how to debride away unhealthy tissue to revitalize the capillaries beneath to facilitate healing.  Knew how to suture skin back together.  Knew how to bandage and medicate.

Healing a wounded heart and soul—that was outside of her realm of expertise, not within her professional knowledge and she hated that.  She didn’t know how to debride painful memories.  Hated that she couldn’t do anything to ease the hurt that she could sense rolling off Jamison in droves.

Holding him seemed like a minuscule gesture, but the way he was clinging to her as if his life depended on it told her that she was right where she needed to be at the moment; that she was helping in some way.

“I’m always here if you need to talk, Jamie.”  She whispered against his shoulder, face heating from how intimately close they currently were and the feather light graze of his lips against her neck.

She felt his chest expand against hers, his sides rising and falling as he breathed in deep and sighed.

“Ta.”

They remained that way for what felt like hours.

Surprisingly, Angela didn’t feel awkward in the least.  Being enveloped by Jamison felt—kind of nice.  He was impossibly warm, and soft despite his toned and muscular physique.  The natural scent of his body was calming; sun kissed heat with a hint of spice.  Masculine.  She’d closed her eyes long ago, giving in to the moment and relaxing within his embrace as she felt him becoming more tranquil.

The tenseness of his body slowly dissipated, and Angela felt his hold on her loosening some, which did little to pull her from the lull that had surrounded her.

“Sorry, I’m such a selfish prick.  You’re prolly dead tired and I’m keepin’ ya awake.” Jamison grumbled low.

Angela shook her head gently against his shoulder.

“I’m right where I want to be.”  She whispered softly and Jamison stiffened.

Surely, she hadn’t meant that the way that it had sounded, Jamison wondered as he finally sat up, arms reluctantly falling from around her as he leaned back slightly to peer down at her within the dark.

She was curled up in his lap, looking quite content as she leaned into his bare chest, her arms still circled around his torso.  Eyes closed and delicate lips softly parted as she breathed, deep and calm.

 _Oh, fuck me._   Jamison swore mentally.  _Maybe she’s already half out of it, talking in her sleep._

He was loathed to be the reason to wake her again and, as carefully as he could manage, rolled Angela to the side as he slipped out from beneath her, gently grabbing her arms and lifting them from around his body to rest against the mattress between them.

He watched her carefully within the dark, her lack of protesting or movement a sure sign that she had indeed fallen to sleep within his bed.

Angela.  Sleeping in his bed.  Beside him.

Immediately tamping down the boyish giddiness that danced within his gut, Jamison carefully tugged the blanket from around his form to drape over hers then positioned himself a respectable distance away at the opposite side of the mattress.

 _I’m right where I want to be._   Her angelic voice echoed in his mind as Jamison closed his eyes, a grin tugging at his lips. 

Angela was right where he had always wanted her to be as well.  Comfortable, safe, warm and protected by his side.

She’d consistently been a shining light within his darkest moments since becoming a part of Overwatch; always by his side to make sure that he was alright.  Always caring and considerate.  Never once had she made him feel like he was an inconvenience or dead weight, like some of the others had, ones that have yet to fully warm up to him.

She laughed at his jokes, at his silly antics and wiles.  Showed concern for him when he carelessly leapt into the heat of battle with a wild abandon and scolded him later for giving her a heart-attack.

The love he felt for the woman came as easy as breathing, and he was beginning to realize, just as essential to his survival.

Jamison wasn’t sure what he would do if he ever lost her.

His greatest treasure.

 

_Later…_

Roadhog huffed impatiently by the shared entrance to his and Jamison’s two room quarters within the watchpoint.  It was well past the time that they normally met up to go have breakfast and quite frankly, he was beyond starving.

Grunting with his frustration, Roadhog ambled over to Jamison’s door and noticed oddly that it was completely slid open.  Normally Jamison kept his room tightly closed and air-locked, a deeply ingrained defense mechanism that was a necessary part of survival in the Outback.

Curiosity piqued, he moved as gracefully as his robust form allowed and closed in on the entrance to Jamison’s room, peering inside.

A deep inhalation of breath caught in his throat at the unexpected sight that he discovered.

Angela was curled against the length of Jamison’s body, her arm draped over his stomach as she held onto him as she slept.  Jamison was star-fished out on his back, one arm serving as Angela’s pillow as it crossed behind her and held her against his side.  Jamison’s mouth was wide open, snoring softly.

Roadhog cracked a smile behind his mask, shaking his head before quietly turning and walking away.

“’Bout damn time.”  He rumbled under his breath as the door lock to their quarters clicked and the door mechanism slid open with a hiss, allowing him to pass through before closing behind him, leaving his two friends to sleep in peace.


End file.
